


Unprofessional

by TeratoMarty



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Age Difference, Anal Sex, Comedy Gore, General hassling, Homophobic Language, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Oral Sex, Period-Typical Homophobia, Total failure to understand transexuality, ill-advised sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-25
Updated: 2019-05-15
Packaged: 2020-01-31 13:20:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 7,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18592072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeratoMarty/pseuds/TeratoMarty
Summary: Professionals have standards.  Scout, on the other hand...





	1. Target Practice

**Author's Note:**

> Really rough old work from TF2chan that I dusted off at a friend's request.

The Sniper and the Scout were engaged in target practise, which is to say, the Sniper was methodically sending arrows through the bullseye, trying to get his speed up, while the Scout blasted his scattergun in the general direction of the targets. 

"Why'ncha get a REAL weapon?" the Scout mocked. The scattergun roared out as he unleashed a hail of bullets downrange. A few of them hit the bales of hay they were theoretically aiming at.

"The bow's a fine weapon. Silent, quick to reload, and out in the brush, you can make your own ammo. I'd thank you to keep to your own target, mind. Crafting 'em takes a while." The Sniper drew the bow and fired in one effortless motion. 

His sheer calm infuriated the Scout. He was going to get to the Sniper if it was the last thing he did. "Yeah, right. You just never got over playing Cowboys And Indians. It's a freakin' kids' weapon!"

The Sniper nocked, pulled and fired, again piercing the bullseye without apparently aiming. "You think so?" the Sniper gave a faint half-smile. "Why don't you have a go, show me just how easy it is." Nock, pull, fire, and he handed the weapon to the Scout.

Scout glared at the weapon. "Sure thing. Ya realise, ya look like a total faggot, prancin' around with this thing?" He yanked at the string, which barely budged. With a mighty heave, he managed to draw the bow, and held it with trembling arms. "Ya want people ta think you're a homo?"

"Why should I care if they know?" the Sniper said quietly.

Several things happened quite quickly. The Scout started to yelp in surprise, let go of the bowstring, which peeled the skin off the inside of his forearm, and the yelp changed to a scream of pain,

"What the HELL, man?" The Scout clasped his smarting arm to his chest, dropping the bow.

"Don't dry-fire it, never drop it, they're both bad for the weapon." The Sniper's slightly wider smile belied his instructive calm. Scout knew the asshole was laughing at him. 

"You can't just SAY shit like that... oh shit oh shit oh shit, you're not gonna try an' jam something up my ass now! Exit only, EXIT ONLY!"

By now, the Sniper was genuinely laughing, a quiet chuckle, but nonetheless. "Not bloody likely, mate, I'm a bottom. What would I do, hold yer at gunpoint 'til you agreed to roger me rotten? I don't know how your tastes run, runt, but doesn't seem likely!" The Australian walked down-range to get his arrows, shoulders still shaking, and left the Scout gaping behind him.


	2. Mess Hall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scout wants answers, but he doesn't even understand the questions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bear in mind, this is set in the 1960s, in the mind of an immature and insensitive young man. Homophobia played for laughs, at the homophobe's expense.

The Scout was in a state of shock for days. Running around the base, he'd think: no-one just ADMITS that! Bashing in skulls: what's that even mean, a bottom? Grabbing the RED intel: he actually wants guys to do THAT? He was burning with curiosity.

It was bad enough when there was a battle on, and at least he had hollering enemies to keep him distracted. Alone in his bunk, he wondered. How could the Sniper be an actual fag? How did he turn into a fag? Did he want to be a lady, or something? Did something gross happen to make him a fag? Did he LIKE it? The Scout briefly wondered what it felt like to have THAT done to you, but firmly vetoed any thoughts of anal experimentation on his own. Poop comes from there.

He jerked off, resolutely thinking of anything BUT the Sniper.

A few days later, when his teammates' random collisions left him alone in the mess hall with the Sniper, his curiosity boiled over. "Yo, Snipes," he said, almost without thinking, "so you're a fag?"

"Yeah." As the Sniper took another bite of his lunch, it became clear that this was as far as his answer went.

"But, man, I mean," the Scout tried to distill the life-altering cognitive dissonance generated by a homosexual Sniper into a concise statement: "HOW?!"

"... Generally I'd like to go out for drinks with a bloke a few times, maybe go walkabout in the bush for a couple days, get to know each other..." the Sniper smiled wryly.

"No!" the Scout hissed, aware that he was being mocked and terrified that someone might hear him even talking about this. "I mean, why guys? How do you even WANT guys? Do you even KNOW about girls?"

The Sniper grimaced slightly. "Scout, I know you're just curious an' all, but do try not to be a total wanker, right? I just like blokes. I like how they look, how they laugh, how they smell, how their hands feel. Yes, I've tried it with sheilas, and yes, they're softer and all, but it's just not me cuppa, all right?"

"Awright, awright, I'm just... tryina get a handle on this." Scout thought for a moment- a very short moment. "So you really let guys DO IT to ya? I mean, WHY? Did someone touch you funny as a kid an' make ya weird?"

"Much as I appreciate your concern for me psychological well-being, you've gotta understand: now yer just bein' disgustin'. No-one 'made me weird.' I've just liked blokes, for as long as I can remember. I have gone to great and occasionally embarrassing lengths to keep a bloke's attention."

"So you just... LIKE it?"

"What better reason to do anything, runt? I could've stayed in the Smoke, become a doctor, married some poor sad sheila... but I didn't want to. So I went to the bush, taught meself to hit a gnat in the eye from a mile away, got into interestin' situations with a variety of blokes, and generally did as I bloody well pleased." He stood up and tipped his hat. As he walked away, Scout couldn't think of any further questions.


	3. Medical Advice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scout needs some advice from a caring, sensitive expert. Pity that he talks to Medic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Medic's information and Scout's vocabulary are both exactly accurate to 1968, which is to say, they are both just awful.

Scout did come up with more questions about the Sniper's... situation later that day, though, and even more that night. Some of them concerned things like the term "cocksucker" and what that might mean in terms of someone who really WOULD... but some of them were things he could actually ask someone about. Not the Sniper, though. 

"Yo DOC!" the Scout barged into the infirmary.

"Yes, Scout?" The Medic hardly looked up from the gory illustrations in the medical book he was reading.

"I need to ask you some questions." The Scout kicked a spare chair around and sat on it backward, heedless of the German's lack of enthusiasm. "What makes someone a homo?"

"Do you mean, what is the cause of homosexuality?" The Medic rolled his eyes, but put a bookmark in his text.

"Yeah. Like, why?"

"There are many theories, Scout," the Medic shifted into lecture mode. "However, the most popular misconception is that all men who engage in homosexual activity are the same. There are actually four distinct conditions, which share some symptoms and may confuse the layman." Medic said "layman," but clearly meant both "moron" and "Scout."

"Yeah?" The Scout was willing to overlook it as long as he got some solid answers.

"The first is the obligatory receptive homosexual. Effeminate in both body and mannerisms, he is essentially a woman in a man's body. Suggested treatment is surgery and hormone therapy to make this person into a true woman." Weeeeird, thought Scout, but he didn't interrupt. 

"Second is the psychological receptive homosexual. Owing to trauma in his early life, possibly resulting from a domineering mütter and a weak or absent father. This type is confused as to the nature of affection. He can and will make love to a woman, but he seeks out men to replace an absent father-figure." Now that sounded like Sniper, he'd said he was missing something with girls. "Suggested treatment, psychoanalysis and avoidance of all-male environments." Yeah, right, thought Scout. That's not gonna happen in 2Fort. Snipes is screwed.

"Then, there are the active types of homosexual behaviour. The most pathological is the aggressive active homosexual. He seeks to exert power over other men by assaulting them sexually. It is an arrested development of the Oedipal complex; such men will primarily assault men who remind them of their fathers and only form immature relationships with women. Suggested treatment, chemical castration until psychoanalysis proceeds far enough to cure the Oedipal fixation." Oh, Scout thought, that explains the stories about rapey fags.

"Finally, there is the opportunistic active behaviour. This is not truly a homosexuality, but an over-active and undirected sexual drive. Such men cannot control their sexual urges, and will engage in homosexual activity when no other option presents itself. Treatment involves cold showers, healthful exercise, and avoidance of all-male environments. With proper precaution, paid female companionship may abate the sexual urge to reasonable levels." Fuckin' A, thought Scout, Doc just prescribed me a hooker! 

"Thanks, Doc!" The Scout sprinted out the door and went for a run to clear his head. An overactive sex drive didn't sound so bad to the Scout. And if 2Fort's cold showers and constant battles didn't "abate" him or whatever, nothing could. It didn't sound like a medical condition, it sounded like bragging rights! Also, he added in the back of his mind, it's totally not my fault that I'm curious about the Sniper. It's not even his fault, his parents messed with his head or something.

Bemused, the Medic went back to his book.


	4. Sweet Seduction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Scout woos Sniper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was written well before Scout uttered the immortal words "We both got buckets'a chicken... wanna do it?" but I am very pleased to note how closely I characterised his romantic technique.

Now that he knew what was going on with Sniper and the contents of his own trousers, Scout could see the logic. A guy with an overactive sex drive had to be practical about things. He'd signed up for a five-year hitch with BLU, and in the absence of any girls, he wasn't going to get ANY until he turned 23! That was an impossibly long time. But if Sniper wanted to, if it would make him feel better about his parents and stuff, then why not help each other out? The early alarm for the beginning of the day's battle sounded, and Scout prepared to join the fray. He was able to concentrate much better today, now that he had a plan. He dominated the day, and prepared to dominate the night.

Time seemed to crawl by. Dinner (disgusting), the Soldier's briefing (boring), watching TV with his teammates (agonizing). Eventually, after Star Trek, the Sniper said good-night and peeled off to do whatever he did in his van. After waiting a discreet interval of fifteen seconds, the Scout followed him.

"Yo, Snipes," the Scout trailed the Sniper to his van and kicked the flimsy door shut behind him. "I been thinkin'. You like to suck cock, right? So, I was thinkin', how 'bout I let you suck my cock?"

The Sniper raised an eyebrow. "I've 'eard worse pick-up lines, but they were delivered by blokes with a gun to me 'ead."

"Well, I don't know how it's s'posta go. Whattaya want, chocolate an' flowers?"

"Actually, a bottle of wine never goes amiss, but no. Look, Scout, I sussed out that you were curious from the frog-eye stares I've been seeing lately, but, no."

"C'mon, man, why not? Doc says I gotta overactive sex drive; I need to... yanno."

"Scout, ALL blokes your age have an overactive sex drive, which is part of the problem. You're too young for me."

"What? 'Fraid you couldn't keep up, old man?"

The Sniper rolled his eyes behind his tinted glasses. "No, Scout. We have nothing in common, you're not my type, an' shagging your teammates is a terrible idea."

"What do we need to have in common? YOU'RE stuck out here, I'M stuck out here, you need to smoke some pole, and I need my pole smoked!"

"Scout, you sweet-talker," Sniper said dryly. 

"So what's your type, then? Ya want Solly comin' onta ya? 'Cause I guarantee I got a way bigger dick."

The Sniper pinched the bridge of his nose under his glasses. "No, Scout, Solly is not my type, either. Anyhow, I think you're forgetting that we all shower together; don't make claims that are so laughingly easy to disprove, right?" Allowing Scout to sputter, Sniper continued. "It's not about dick size, anyway. I like what I like, and that's it."

"Awright, so, if Solly was slick and charming and witty and not SERGEANT HUT HUT HUT MAGGOTS all the time, you'd rather have him than me?"

"Scout, if Solly were all that stuff, he wouldn't BE Solly! It's a nonsense. I'm not about to get involved with anyone on base, right? Now bugger off."

The Scout left, only to jack off furiously in his bunk. He thought of Sniper. Thought about how good it would feel to have an actual mouth on his cock. Sniper wanted it, right? That was what Medic had said. He needed it, to fix his fucked-up family shit. Eventually, Sniper would ask for it, would beg for it. Beg for it- Scout came, biting his lip to keep from screaming.

Shit, he wanted Sniper.


	5. Camper Van

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Best to let sleeping assassins lie.

A few nights later, Scout decided to try again with Sniper. He hatched a plan to get to the marksman while his defences were down. Get him while he's asleep! Just start rubbing up on him! By the time he wakes up, he'll be halfway to giving a blowjob, so why not just finish? In the Scout's humble opinion, it was genius.

Around one in the morning, the Scout sneaked out to the Sniper's van. He'd never noticed quite how loud walking over sand was. He forced himself to go slowly. However, the van's springs creaked when he climbed the steps attached to the rear bumper. He listened at the door, and didn't hear anything for a moment- Was that a good sign, or a bad one? Shit, what if he'd woken the guy up? Clinging to the door handle, the Boston boy tried to stay still. After listening for a moment longer, a rasping snore allayed the Scout's fears. Operation Get-A-Blowjob was GO!

The door had a keypad lock, but even the Scout could figure out that the code was one-one-one-one. Sliding the door open as quietly as possible, the young man crept across the tiny space. The Sniper's breathing was reassuringly deep and regular. He was asleep on a shelf over the cab of the van, facing the door, his hand under his pillow. In the moonlight filtering in through the door, it was almost cute, actually. The Scout stalked forward-

"SPY ROUND HERE!" the Sniper hollered, swinging his kukri out from under his pillow and cleaving the Scout's skull like a coconut.

A few minutes later, the Sniper was waiting when the Scout respawned.

"Sorry about that, mate, but what in blazes were you doing?"

"You killed me!"

"I'm an assassin! You think I got this old without keeping one eye open?"

"You killed the Hell outta me!"

"I said I was sorry!"

"No, it was AWESOME! You just came out all WHACK WHACK CHOP!"

Sniper looked tired, even for a man who'd been awakened at one in the morning. "What were you doing in me kip?"

"I was seeing if I could get you to blow me in your sleep."

"Jaysus Kee-rist."

"No chance of an apology blowjob? For chopping up my brain?"

"You weren't using it anyway. Go back to bed, Scout."


	6. Success

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm lonely and angry and miserable, and sucking blokes off makes me happy.

The kukri to the forehead put a damper on Scout's efforts to get a blowjob out of the Sniper. Their interactions gradually slid back to normal over the next few weeks- the Scout stopped staring at the Sniper, and the Sniper stopped ignoring the Scout. The Boston boy decided to forget he'd ever even tried, and attempted to direct his onanistic efforts toward pin-up girls. It worked, sometimes.

Then, it was phone call day. The phone in the intel room was patched through to the outside world, and each member of the team was allowed a fifteen-minute long-distance call to his family. They went alphabetically by class, the Scout right before the Sniper. After the Announcer told him to ring off with his mother, the Scout hung around in the hall to hear what the Australian said. 

First came "Hi, Mum, it's me," followed by a string of amiable mumbling, cut off midstream, then conciliatory mumblings. There were further cheerful mutters, then the tone changed entirely. "Hallo, Dad." The Sniper sounded wary, guarded. He was trying to apologise, then to explain. Louder sentences got cut off short, Australian curses bitten in half. It went quiet in the Intel room, so quiet that the Scout pressed his ear to the door, and suddenly the Sniper slammed down the phone. 

The Scout was still poised embarrassingly close to the door when the Sniper strode through, looking more haggard than he would after a day of being repeatedly shivved by the enemy Spy.

"Get a good earful, runt?" he snapped.

"Uhh... sounds like they put ya through the mill."

"They hate me," the Sniper said flatly.

"They don't HATE you," the Scout assured his teammate. "They get disappointed, they yell an' holler, but they love you. You're their kid," he said, as if that explained it all.

"I'm one long string of failures."

"Not from where I'm standing. You can shoot anything, from anywhere, survive for MONTHS in the middle of freakin' nowhere, and you went from 'asleep' to 'chopping my head open' in like two seconds flat." The Scout followed the Sniper down the hall. It was the Soldier's turn to call whoever he had to talk to. 

The Sniper smiled wryly. "That's not exactly about to win my parents' approval."

"Medic says you're only a homo 'cause you wish your father loved you."

Sniper stopped dead in his tracks, and looked momentarily ready to cry. Closing his eyes, he said, "Scout, if I were trying to earn me dad's love, I can think of at least eighty things to try before sleepin' with other blokes. One of 'em involves slaughtering a water buffalo in me mum's front garden, so just... shut up. And don't talk about me behind me back."

"Sorry, man... sorry." The Scout felt like utter shit. "I... I didn't say anything about you. I just told him I needed to know." He thought for another minute, but couldn't come up with anything better to say than, "I'm really sorry."

The Sniper took a deep breath, jerked himself upright, and looked at the Scout with a steely glare. "You still want that blowjob?"

"What?" The Scout could feel his brain burn out its clutch as he tried to change gears.

"I said, d'you want to put your cock in my mouth an' let me do the dirtiest, most enjoyable thing known to Man." His voice was a rough whisper.

"I mean, uh, OF COURSE, but... why now?"

"Because I'm lonely and angry and miserable, and sucking blokes off makes me happy. Come on."

Scout followed the Sniper out to his van, his pants already uncomfortably tight. It was hot and cramped in the bump-out camper, and smelt of dust, baked mildew and bachelorhood. As far as Scout was concerned, it was the perfume of raw erotic power. He stripped off all his clothing and stood naked in the centre of the little room almost before the Sniper could lock the door.

"Eager, I notice," the Sniper looked sideways at the Scout's erection.

"Oh, Hell yeah." the Scout stroked his cock.

"Heh. Get on the bed.

The Scout scrambled up into the little bunk, then groped his chest, legs and thighs, showing off. The Sniper joined him, head bowed, and kissed the Scout's thigh. The Boston boy could barely breathe- holy shit, he was really gonna do it! The Sniper nuzzled and licked the Scout's belly and inner thighs, losing himself in touch, taste and scent. He carefully avoided the runner's cock, until the younger man whined in frustration.

"All right, all right," the Australian smiled slyly. "Patience is a virtue." He slurped down on the Scout's cock. 

The Scout felt like he had double-jumped off the edge of Offblast. He couldn't breathe, his stomach was in free-fall, he clutched wildly at the bedroll. After a moment, the Sniper eased back, and the sensation resolved itself to merely the most amazing thing the Scout had ever felt.

For all that he was a good Catholic boy, the Scout thought he'd come up with some pretty inventive methods of masturbation. The Sniper's hot, deep, velvety mouth beat all of them, though. He bucked up wildly, fucking the older man's face, grabbing messy handfuls of his slicked-back hair.

The Sniper took it all, resting one hand on the Scout's pelvis to moderate his thrusts, sliding the other up the younger man's chest to play with his nipples. The Scout couldn't believe the squeaks and moans coming from his own throat. When the Sniper simultaneously pinched a nipple, rolled his thumb over the Scout's hipbone and swirled his tongue around the head of the Scout's cock, that was it. The Scout groaned inarticulately, grabbed the Sniper's head, and shoved his cock down the older man's throat. He came to the incomparable sensation of the Sniper swallowing around his cock.

To say that the Scout had never felt anything like it before would be an understatement. He came, and when he thought he was almost done, the Sniper would swallow again, and the Scout was still coming. He struggled, but the Sniper pinned his hips and wrung another few throbs out of him. Dazed and blissful, the Scout was too busy looking at the stars on the inside of his eyelids to notice when the Sniper pulled off, patted his cock dry, and laid down beside him.

He did notice, though, when the bed began to shake. Peeling his eyes open, he saw that the Sniper had his pants down around his knees and was jerking himself frantically, the fingers of his left hand sliding deep between his thighs. The Scout watched, riveted- it was filthy, and completely thrilling.

"You're totally finger-banging your own ass, ain'tcha?"

"Yeah- " the Sniper's reply was breathy, desperate.

"Holy shit, you're a fucking faggot." It wasn't so much an accusation as a revelation, sounding almost like admiration from the Scout. The Sniper moaned his agreement. 

"You really like taking it up the ass, don't you?!"

The Sniper groaned in abandon, and the motion of his hands sped up. Scout noticed that he had a boner again, and had a brilliant idea.

"Yo, Snipefag, knock it off." He put a possessive hand on the Sniper's thigh.

"Christ, Scout, what? I'm not exactly in the mood for second thoughts!"

"Even the second thought where me an' my overactive sex drive bang your ass for you?"

Sniper looked up, stunned. "You're serious?"

"'Course I'm goddamn serious. Take your pants off, wombat."

The Sniper didn't have to be told twice, and struggled out of his clothing. He looked different naked, the Scout noticed. Less like the stone-faced Sniper and more like a guy who could seriously almost cry in the hall outside the Intel room. Scout didn't like thinking about that; he just wanted to feel a new part of the Sniper around his dick. "Bite some pillow, pillow-biter."

"I like it face-to," the Sniper's eyes flashed, "an' I'm the expert 'round here. Stay put." 

The Scout did as he was told. The Sniper climbed on top of him, slid his long, lean legs around the Scout's waist. The runner shuddered with pleasure at the simple touch of the Sniper's calf on his hip.

"Roight, now- OW!" The Sniper struggled away as the Scout lunged upward, jabbing his erection toward where it seemed like it ought to go.

"Blimey, mate, I hope y'don't try it like that with the sheilas!" The Sniper held the Scout down with one long arm, and the Scout wasn't about to mention he'd never tried anything with any girl. "Here, let me aim yer..." the Australian guided the head of the Scout's cock to his ass. "Hold up a tick, I think we'll be needin' more of this." He grabbed a jar of Vaseline that was wedged beside the mattress, and smeared some on both of them. "Now, let's have a go, gentle-like. It's not a race."

The way the Scout's heart was hammering, it felt very much like a race, though he didn't bring it up. He concentrated on going where the Sniper put him, sliding into unbelievable hot tightness that seemed to be ridged in all the right places to drive him insane. It looked like it was doing something for the Sniper, as well. He grunted underneath the Scout, red-faced, panting, until the Scout slid forward and-

"Aauh!"

"Oh holy shit man did I hurt you? Sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry-" the Scout froze, every joke about how painful ass sex was suddenly taking on terrible new meaning. 

"Oh- fuckin' 'ell, mate, no, just do that again!"

The Scout shifted his hips experimentally, trying to move the same way-

"Oh CHRIST!" That was definitely a happy scream, and it made the Sniper's body tighten around the Scout. In the last moments before his brain shut down entirely, the Scout realised how wonderful the Sniper looked, the golden light pouring in through the camper's small windows onto the fine sheen of sweat over his long, taut limbs. Then, it was all just motion, heat, skin on skin, kisses and moans. The Scout slammed his hips against the Sniper, gripping him round the neck, swearing and nipping at the other man's lips. For his part, the Sniper bucked and wrapped his legs around the Scout's waist to draw him deeper.

The Scout's mind surfaced again, just long enough to think, "Let's see him worry about his stupid parents NOW," when suddenly the Sniper's body was tensing, his hand sliding between their bodies to stroke his cock.

"Oh, Scout," the older man moaned. "Please- harder- SCOUT!"

The Scout fucked the Sniper as fast and deep as his athletic body could manage. This was better than batting skulls, better than running, better than anything. Just when he wanted it to last forever, the Sniper came. The amazing pulsating tightness around the Scout's cock, the long, lean arms around his shoulders, the slide of their tongues over each other undid the Scout. He was coming, too, impossibly hard, impossibly long, deep inside the other man. He collapsed, overwhelmed by the ecstasy.

When he rolled off, he noticed that the Sniper's semen had hit him in the face. "Oh, GROSS," he scrubbed his cheek with a corner of the sheet.

"Boom, headshot, " the Sniper laughed roughly, stubble rasping the Scout's face as he licked the stickiness away. Suddenly, it was all too clear to the Scout that he had fucked a man. 

"I'm not a fag, okay?" he said, pushing away from the Sniper.

"Sure you're not," the Australian agreed. He put his arm around the Scout, who didn't really register that the marksman was rolling his eyes. "Anyone who's ever been to jail knows, only the bitch on the bottom is a poofter."

"You're my bitch?" the Scout asked, propping himself up on one elbow.

"Of course." Another unheeded eyeroll.

"HA! You're totally my bitch! DOMINATED, roo-puncher!"

"Anything you say. Just go to sleep, right?" The Sniper pulled the Scout down to rest on his chest, and the younger man was out almost before the Sniper finished his sentence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to UsedToBeHMC for getting me off my butt to post this!


	7. Pancakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Yo, bitch! Get me some pancakes!"

The day after his encounter with the Sniper, the Scout was on top of the world. He had known sex was supposed to be good, okay, but he hadn't honestly expected it to be THAT much better than jacking off. All the same basic idea, right? But the way the Sniper had looked, the way he'd begged, made strange things happen to the Scout's insides. Something tight tingled deep in his stomach, his lips and tongue all but ached for another taste of the older man's skin, to say nothing of the massive boner he'd been sporting since he'd woken up. It wasn't gay- the Sniper had been the one who started it! He was the Scout's bitch! The mere thought was enough to make the Scout have to sit down, quickly and carefully, lest he jizz his pants in the mess hall.

This was a problem. He wanted breakfast, but he was definitely going to have to sit down for a few minutes until he got himself under control. Moreover, the countdown to battle was going to start soon, and the Soldier would have a conniption fit if the Scout wasn't in formation. 

Then, like a vision of the best of all possible worlds, the Sniper appeared. Yesterday, the Scout might not have thought that way about a lanky, raw-boned Australian who lived in a van... but that was then. This was now, and now...

"Yo, bitch! Get me some pancakes!"

The Sniper's face was impassive, but the Scout was gratified to see him set down his coffee and go to the breakfast line to get a stack of pancakes.

"I like syrup an' plenty of buttah!" the boy bawled.

"Did you lose a bet?" the Demoman asked, but the Sniper did not respond. Instead, he started across the mess hall toward the Scout. 

The Boston boy had never considered getting breakfast to be an erotic experience, but he was breathing heavily as the Sniper approached. Despite the Australian's failure to be a buxom blonde, regardless of the lack of a low-cut dress and notwithstanding his inability to sway seductively as he walked, the Sniper with a plate of pancakes was the hottest thing the Scout had ever seen.

Enrapt, the young man didn't notice the glowering gleam in the Sniper's eye until the Australian dumped out the plate of pancakes in his lap. Still unspeaking, the gunman upended the plate, lifted the Scout's hat, and put the dish syrup-side down on the younger man's hair. The Sniper left with dignity and aplomb, pausing only to retrieve his coffee.

The Scout sat in shock while the Demoman roared with laughter. With no time to shower and change his clothing before the battle started, the Scout did the only thing he could. After wolfing down the pancakes that had landed on his pants, he shot himself in the head in order to re-spawn clean and syrup-free in time to fight.


	8. Another Phone Call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You don’t gotta fellate me or whatever, I just want a blowjob!”

After the battle, the Scout went looking for the man he had thought was his bitch. He found the Sniper sitting on the front bumper of his camper, cleaning his rifle.

“What the Hell was that crap this morning?” the Boston boy greeted the Australian, trying to ignore the way the Sniper’s fingers moved over the long, hard barrel of his gun.

“You tell me,” the Sniper cocked his eyebrow.

“Puttin’ pancakes on me in front’a the whole team! That’s humiliatin’!”

“And calling me ‘bitch’ wasn’t?”

“You liked it okay last night!”

“That was in bed. Alone, is the important bit. We have to be professional. You ought to know that, but that’s what I get for shagging a kid.”

“Hey, I was the one shagging YOU. And I’m not a kid!” The Scout kicked a rock. The Sniper just laughed. “Okay, okay,” the young man grumbled. “But look, if I stay professional in front of the guys, can we… you know… do it again?”

“No, Scout.” The Sniper looked down at his rifle. 

“Why not?! It was awesome!”

“Glad you liked it, and I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t a tonic. I was in a bloody low place, though, and I shouldn’t’ve brought you in on it.”

“So it cheered you up, right? It made you happy! You do whatever you want, right, so you oughtta… you know…” the Scout gestured toward his own crotch.

“I also don’t do things that I don’t want to do.” The Sniper’s voice was even, but there was steel underneath. “I don’t want to get sacked for indiscretion, I don’t want to let soppy shite interfere with my job, and I don’t want to get wheedled into putting out like a simpering teenager. Clear?” 

The Scout felt like he was back in the dugout, getting an earful from the coach for dropping the ball on a home-run play. Talking to his bitch was not supposed to go like this. The Sniper, despite what they had shared last night, was not his bitch.

“Sorry,” the Scout muttered, his voice thick, “sorry.” Oh, shit, no- he turned his back so that the Sniper wouldn’t see his eyes leaking.

“Keep it professional,” the marksman said, still cleaning his rifle.

That night, the Scout felt like such crap that he could barely jack off. Hell with the Sniper, anyway. He got out a magazine and imagined that Miss October was just dying to bring him pancakes.

The next morning, though, the Scout awoke with a brilliant realisation. He didn’t have to convince the Sniper to blow him again. He didn’t have to beg. He didn’t have to do anything. All he had to do was wait. A month seemed like an awfully long time, but he’d survive. And maybe the Sniper would find a payphone or get a letter from his parents before then, anyway. He hopped out of bed and ran his warm-up laps with renewed vigour.

By the next phone call day, the Scout could barely sit still as he waited for his turn. He could never sit still anyway, but this was particularly unbearable. He was practically bouncing off the walls as he waited in the hall for the Pyro to mumble his way through his conversation with whoever he had to talk to. The Scout had long ago given up trying to listen at the door to find out who might be on the other end of the line- though the firebug presumably took his mask off for the phone call, his speech was just as indecipherable as before. Maybe he was talking Martian.

Even though Scout loved talking with his mother, he could barely concentrate once it was his turn on the phone. He kept losing the thread of the story she was telling him- was it his cousin or his nephew who’d told his aunt about what his brother- which brother?- had said about his nephew, or was it his cousin, when the priest came to dinner? He rang off with a “Love ya, Ma,” that was rushed even by his standards, and raced off down the hall so that the Sniper wouldn’t think he was eavesdropping.

Of course, the Scout raced right the Hell back as soon as the door to the Intel room clicked shut behind the gunman. He heard him say “Hi, Mum,” then amiable murmuring. Yep, yep. Then a laugh, a pause, then… “Hi, Dad.” Yes!

More murmuring. Uncertain noises. A bitter tone, then an apologetic tone. A polite laugh. “Bye, Dad. Yeah, Mum?” And then yet more murmuring. Finally, the Sniper said, “Yes, Mum. Love you, Mum,” and rang off.

The Scout buzzed off around the corner again, his heart hammering like he’d just downed a case of Bonk. He turned around to saunter back toward the Intel room as nonchalantly as possible. He thought he looked pretty casual, for all that he was beet-red and sweaty. He drew level with the Sniper just as the Soldier stepped into the Intel room for his own phone call. Perfect.

“Yo, Snipes.”

“Oi, Scout.” The Sniper raised an eyebrow at him, but walked on by.

Reversing direction again, the Scout hurried to get in stride with the Sniper. “So, ah… how’s the family, roo-puncher?”

“Foine, thanks for askin’. And yours?”

“Fine, great, my nephew’s in trouble with my cousin, unless my cousin’s in trouble with my brother. Whatever. Yeah. Uh…”

“What, Scout?” The lanky Australian stopped in his tracks, giving the Scout an unnervingly direct stare.

“Well, I was just… you want to go back to your camper?”

“Yes, I do. Not with you, though.”

“But- I thought- you just called your dad-”

“You thought, you say? I doubt it. Look, Scout. I’ll be the first to admit, I have my disagreements with my parents, but I’m not such a ruin that I have to automatically fellate a juvenile delinquent every time I talk to them.”

“You don’t gotta fellate me or whatever, I just want a blowjob!”

“Hon hon hon,” said an empty patch of air in the corner of the hall. “Hon hon hon *snort* hon!” His cover blown, the Spy uncloaked, doubled over with laughter.

“’Allo, Spook.”

“What is this- you are unmoved by the Scout’s seduction?”

“That’s about the size of it.”

“GAHbut he- and I- but-” the Scout spluttered, until the Sniper put a long hand over his entire face.

“It’s his time of life, y’see. He found out about me bein’ a poofter, and since there’s no sheilas around, he’s naturally tryin’ to work out his urges any way he can.”

“Oh, Scout,” the Spy tutted. “What would your poor mother say? Though she might offer you some hints on technique.”

“You shut up about my ma!” Scout threw his hat on the floor.

“It’s no use, Spook. You can’t blackmail the kid, he’s got no shame.” The Sniper sauntered away down the hall. His nonchalant saunter was a lot better than the Scout’s. “Not on to talk about a bloke’s mum, though.”

The Scout was left staring at the Spy’s smirk. He wished he hadn’t left the Force-a-Nature back in his room, though he wasn’t sure whether he wanted to use it on the Spy or himself. Scooping up his hat, he sprinted away up the hall, away from the Spy, away from the goddamn Sniper. The French man’s laughter followed him.


	9. Further Medical Advice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "All I wanna know is, if a guy needs it up the ass, about how often does he need it?"

The Scout's gut-grinding embarrassment cooled his jets for at least a day. While snagging the RED Intel, he realised that the Sniper had been looking out for him. Not just when he splatted the Soldier who'd been firing rockets at Scout's ass, either. The other day, the Sniper hadn't told the Spy that they'd screwed around. He'd made out like it was his own fault for being a known queer. He'd even told the Spy that blackmail wasn't gonna work, so the Spook had quit threatening to tattle to his Ma.

Did the Sniper actually like him?

That thought was enough to get the Boston boy going again. The battle was called off early due to dust storms, so once the Soldier had ranted and foamed his way through the debrief, the Scout made his way to the infirmary. He needed some more expert medical advice.

"Yo DOC!" he stuck his head through the swinging doors.

"Scout!" the Medic nearly dropped the handful of shiny, terrifying steel implements he'd been fondling. "What do you want? Make it quick, I am busy."

"Okay, um." It was hard to say this crap out loud... "Yanno those homos who need it 'cause their dads don't love 'em? About how often do they need to, uh, make up for it?"

"I have no idea what you are talking about."

"They need guys to love 'em," Scout made an explanatory humping gesture, "but how often? Once a month? Major holidays? Once a year?"

"This is a psychopathology, Scout. The symptoms are to be suppressed, not scheduled. The goal of treatment is to normalise the aberrant sexual drives, which result from unhealthy attachments formed in the anal-repressive stage of the-"

"Doc, stop!" The Scout blushed furiously at the word 'anal.' "All I wanna know is, if a guy needs it up the ass, about how often does he need it?"

"Three days," a Russian-accented voice boomed from the far door of the infirmary. 

"Yeah?" said the Scout, relieved to have some solid answers, where-ever they came from.

"Heavy!" the Medic exclaimed as the bald Russian strode in, shirtless and glistening with sweat.

"Doktor need bouncy every three days, or he get like me when I need sandvich." The Heavy squeezed his Medic from behind and nibbled on his ear.

"AUF!" the Medic shouted.

"Little man knows, why hide any more?" the Heavy cuddled the Medic like a large dog trying to make friends with a wet cat.

"Dummkopf! He knew nothing until you opened your mouth!"

"I still don't know nothin'!" the Scout assured them as he lit out of there as fast as his feet would carry him. 

Once clear of the Eastern Bloc domestic dispute, the Scout settled into the soothing pattern of a jog around the base. As he ran, he tried to fit his teammates into what the Medic had told him about homosexuality. From the way the big guy had been humping the Medic's rump, it was clear who was the bitch. So was the Heavy an aggressive fag, or just an opportunist like the Scout himself? The boy sincerely hoped that the huge Russian was just a horndog, because he didn't like the idea of sharing showers with three hundred pounds of indecent assault. The idea of him as just terminally horny wasn't very comforting, either. The Medic better put out, was all Scout could say.

So where did the Medic fit into his own theories? Did he want to be a lady? The idea of the six-foot, square-jawed probable Nazi in a dress was ridiculous... though it did remind the Scout somewhat of his aunt Gertrude. Maybe he'd had a fucked-up family like the Sniper? Except the Scout couldn't imagine the Medic having a family. He must have hatched from an egg laid deep in a cave, if he hadn't been built in a lab. Plus, if he was a homo, how come he didn't just man up and admit it, like the Sniper? The Heavy was definitely ready to tell the world. Or at least show it. 

Trying not to wonder too hard about how the Heavy and the Medic did... it... without squishing the Medic to death, the Scout went back inside the base. He had more questions than ever, but he didn't want to wear out his welcome with the Sniper. Was there anyone else he could ask?

While wondering this, the Scout came across the Demoman, who was enjoying his post-battle drunken stupor in the rec room. Why the Hell not, the Scout figured. 

"Hey, Demo, you know anything about fags?"

"What, noo?" the man's lone eye turned muzzily toward the Scout.

"Fruits, fairies," the Scout clarified, trying to cross the barrier of a shared language. 

"Och, faeries," the Demoman smiled. "If ye put a silver penny an' a bit of bread in yer pockets on Midsummer Eve, ye can load yer shotgun wi' rocksalt an' prang 'em on the wing as they fly o'erhead on their yarrow stalks."

"No! Not like fairy-fairies. I mean, guys who suck each other's dicks," the Scout hissed.

The Demoman stared at him for a long moment, his expression unreadable.

"Weel, I'll do ye, if ye do me," the Scot said, flipping up the lower panel of his flak jacket to fumble with his fly.

"Whoa whoa whoa- NOT what I meant!" The Scout bolted from the rec room, leaving the Demoman to pass out with his fly open. Again.


End file.
